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2010-01-19
Eddie was the kind of guy who made you want to wake up in the morning and go to school.
The problem was that I was a teacher and he a student.
Now, I don’t want you to think this is some really gross story about an overweight, middle-aged hornball with a crush on a hot seventeen year-old kid. This is a story about a straight-out-of-university, 22 year-old, trim hornball with a crush on a hot seventeen year-old guy.
In the grand scheme of things that probably only makes it slightly better. Ethically speaking, this whole thing was a big no-no. But the heart can’t help what it feels . . . nor can the penis help what it wants.
I had done my student teaching in this particular school, a public school for very bright math and science oriented students, and I had apparently done a good enough job that I was offered a full time appointment at the end of my student teaching stint. Of course, I was the English teacher; math and science scare me to death.
When the principal gave me my schedule I nearly had heart failure. I was to teach mostly seniors and juniors. I was assigned only one freshman class.
“Don’t worry.
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I know you can do it,” Mr. Jefferies cooed soothingly as he ushered me unceremoniously out the office door.
That was on the first day of the new school year, 30 minutes before the start of the day. I had originally been given a slate of freshmen classes, but apparently at the last minute, one of the veteran teachers had thrown a hissy fit and was mollified by being given my classes.
Ain’t tenure grand?
I wasn’t even sure I had the books I needed to hand out. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I had read the books we were supposed to be doing in 12th grade literature. This was going to go well.
I didn’t have time to ruminate because the first of my students began to trickle in just before the bell rang. I hate to say it, but they were the stereotypical math-and-science nerds. I felt my dork-o-meter beginning to whirr like crazy. Instead of students with individual faces taking their respective seats, all I could see were numbers and elemental names from the period table with glasses and pocket protectors.
In case you were wondering, I was going to hell for more than one reason.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, I thought to myself. Sure they’re smart. But these kids want to please.
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They might be smug and intelligent, but they also want to get into MIT and other engineering schools. Classroom management, here I come!
Two minutes to the bell a second wave of students entered the room. This group looked more like the traditional public school fare: jeans, t-shirts, sneakers. My stomach did a somersault – because there he was.
He wore tight – very tight – faded gray jeans that hugged his ass and formed a nice bulge at the front of his pants. His button-down flannel shirt was untucked and the edges were short, coming to a stop just below his belt line, framing his crotch nicely. He had the perfect manly shape: broad shoulders, wide chest, narrower hips. His shirt was open at the top, little scrags of chest hair poking out through the top.
He wasn’t wearing an undershirt (and from the looks of it, wasn’t wearing underpants, either) and I could see a thin gold chain nestled comfortably in his chest chair.
I felt the oxygen whoosh out of the room. Oh crap.
I learned his name was Eddie and promptly forgot everyone else’s.
Get a hold of yourself, I silently scolded. You make it sound like you’ve never seen an attractive male before.
I had.
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Late-night romps looking at porn on the Internet had given me enough images to die masturbating.
But there was something different here. Something very different.
Maybe it was because he was there, in the flesh. Maybe it was because of his age. I chalk it up to the fact that he had a certain je ne sais quoi. He had “it”. God, he was probably getting laid every night.
That first night I didn’t need to log onto the Internet for my nightly dose of porn. I just conjured the image of Eddie and went to work, whacking my dick as intently as I could. I must have jerked it three times before I began preparing the next day’s lessons. Those jeans! There I went, another two times. If weren’t careful, I’d be ejaculating dust.
The next few weeks went by quickly and without incident. In fact, they were quite dull.
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Every day I came to school with a slight flutter in my stomach, hoping that Eddie would be there. He rarely disappointed – in many ways.
I hadn’t assigned seats at the start of the year, but Eddie couldn’t have picked a better spot. He sat in the back, in the left hand corner of the room. The desks that the seniors used were like the ones you get in college, a hard metal seat with only a small board that comes out only halfway above the person’s lap. In this way, I had a perfect view of Eddie’s crotch.
When seated, Eddie’s dick got pushed to the right. It collected in a large, round lump just against the inner thigh of his right leg. Sometimes, you could see where his balls strained against the fabric of his pants. Once, he stretched his arms straight up into the air, lifting his untucked shirt so as to reveal his abs.
I nearly died on the spot. Or came. Whichever you prefer.
It wasn’t until about two months into the school year that something really interesting happened. I was giving my first full-period test on Hamlet.
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I knew it was a killer. I hadn’t really intended it to be, but I was trying to test the students’ analytical skills. These kids could apply math theorems and remember chemical formulae, but their general comprehension skills left much to be desired.
As I patrolled the room during the exam, I noticed that Eddie’s left hand was missing. I had a momentary lapse where I couldn’t figure out what was going on, but then I saw the bulge in his pants rise. And fall. And rise.
He was masturbating! In class!
Again. Death. Come. Whatever.
I had no idea how to handle this. They never teach you anything practical in education classes. You talk about crap and stupid ideas for three years straight and then they throw you to the wolves.
No wonder our public schools suck.
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But I digress. No one had offered “In-Class Masturbation: How to Cope” as a course at my university. Then again, if they had, the whole school would have registered.
If I said something to Eddie, I could be accused of sexual harassment. If I said nothing, I could be accused of condoning what he was doing.
I quickly glanced around the room. No one seemed to notice. All the students were diligently answering my inane questions about Hamlet and his pseudo-oedipal relationship with his mother. I surreptitiously went back to my desk and perched on its edge, making sure to scan the room but always returning my attention to the show in the back.
Today Eddie was wearing tight, light blue jeans and I could see the hardened shaft of his dick pushing the limits of its constraints. His fist caused the buttons on his 501s to bulge outward. At this point, he wasn’t even pretending to take the test. He was focused entirely on making himself come. His pace changed; his eyes became a bit detached. I knew he was about to come and I wasn’t disappointed.
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His dick twitched violently as he opened his legs widely, using the friction to coax the spunk from his balls.
I must have been transfixed because the bell rang and I actually fell off the desk. The class erupted into laughter and I blushed violently. In the rush and bustle, I couldn’t collect the tests individually. The kids just left them on my desk. By the time the dust settled, the room was empty and I was alone.
My dick was going to fall off tonight.
As I shuffled the test papers together, I noticed something a bit wet on my fingers and the desk. At first I thought I had spilled my cup of water in my tumble off the desk, but that didn’t make sense. The test papers seemed dry and there was no run-off on the floor. And the liquid on my fingers was more viscus than water would be.
I was intrigued because the only things I’d been handling were the test papers.
I began sifting through the papers and found the culprit.
Again, this was a first in some many ways. There was a test paper folded in half.
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I could see a wet splotch pretty much covering the whole of the paper; it was basically soaked through. I lifted the sheet to my nose and gave it a sniff. Musty.
I already had a suspicion what it was, but it was the note scribbled at the top, the ink now running slightly, that nearly confirmed it.
I hope you accept my contribution.
Hornily, E.
I opened the exam paper. The page was blank – except for the massive amount of come that had been ejaculated into it.
For the first time ever I came without touching myself. This act of gross perversion just pushed me over the edge. First the masturbation show; now a steaming paper full of come. I sat down at my desk totally winded.
And totally screwed!.
